


Who’s Gonna Drive You Home Tonight?

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, mulder and scully spend a lot of time in cars, they listen to music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: One day Mulder and Scully get tired of the radio and it starts a new tradition.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Who’s Gonna Drive You Home Tonight?

“Mulder, I cannot listen to another country song,” Scully says with a sigh. She’s been searching for a station that plays something - anything - else but so far, no luck. They’re in the middle of nowhere and their choices are limited. It’s country or no music at all.

“Um, there’s, in my Walkman, there’s a tape. Should be better than country.” He throws her a quick grin. “Let’s stop for a moment. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

While Mulder walks up and down the deserted road, cracking sunflower seeds and jokes, Scully rummages through his bag in search of his Walkman. She finds it and takes out the tape. There’s a faded sticker on it but she can’t make out the words. She glances at Mulder, smiling absent-mindedly. By now, she’s gotten used to him and his antics. Who else does push-ups in the middle of the road? She turns the tape in her hands, wonders what’s on there. What kind of music does Fox Mulder listen to? She’ll find out in a few minutes.

“Legs are stretched. You ready to keep going?” He spits another sunflower seed shell out of his mouth and she nods.

Mulder starts the car and Scully puts in the tape. She immediately recognizes the song.

“Elvis, Mulder?” She asks, smiling at him.

He shrugs, his cheeks a sweet shade of bubblegum pink.

“I like it,” she says, not taking her eyes off him.

“I promised you it’s better than country music. Next time you can bring a tape if you want.” He quickly looks over at her to gauge her reaction.

“I’d like that.”

And that’s how it begins.

On their next out-of-town case, Scully brings her own beat-up cassette. Mulder grins at her and closes his eyes in appreciation as the first strains of Haydn’s Cello Concert No. 1 fill the car.

“I figured you’d like classical music, Scully.”

“Disappointed?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Not at all. If Bach or Beethoven are on your tape, Scully…” he winks at her.

She blushes, remembering the last time he said something similar. His Iced Tea turned out to be Root Beer, but this time, they might just get lucky because she knows exactly what’s on this tape.

“Just wait and listen,” she says, composing herself. She can’t quite suppress her grin, though, and folds her hands in her lap, excited to see Mulder’s face once Beethoven comes on.

They take turns bringing music on cases, getting to know each other in this whole new way. Before, Scully dreaded the long monotonous journeys in their latest rental car. Now, she looks forward to them. Mulder is a fan of Depeche Mode and Elton John. The latter one makes her laugh until he explains that his roommate introduced him to the music in Oxford.

“I, um, tried to serenade a crush with ‘Your Song’ once.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t Phoebe.”

He chuckles. “No. Her name was Alessandra. But as it turned out, I wasn’t singing under her window.”

“Whose was it?” She’s grinning at him.

“My 63-year-old professor.”

Laughter bubbles out of Scully. She pats his thigh in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Did she like it?”

“He,” Mulder emphasizes, “wasn’t very impressed.”

“Oh Mulder,” Scully says, unable to keep her laughter at bay. “I’m so sorry. Did Alessandra ever get to hear you sing?”

“No, that was the end of my singing career.”

The words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Sing for me?” They share a look and finally, Mulder nods.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he starts and Scully watches him, mesmerized. Who knew, she thinks. Who knew.

They’re traveling through the past decade’s discography as much as they journey through the US. They listen to Madonna and Michael Jackson, to Fleetwood Mac and ABBA. 

“Missy loved them,” Scully says, reminiscing. Her sister made her dress up and called her Dancing Queen. There’s a photo somewhere of the two of them in her mother’s attic. Maybe she’ll look at it one day. One day when the pain of losing her is no longer as raw.

“We can listen to something else.” Mulder’s voice is soft, as is his touch on her hand. She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“It’s good music. Isn’t it?”

“It is. Tell me about Melissa?” He asks and she does. Sometimes, Mulder chuckles, and he provides anecdotes of him and Samantha.

“I wonder what kind of music she would have liked,” Mulder says.

“I think she would have liked ABBA, too.”

“You know what? I think you’re right.”

Two decades later, and they still refuse to country music in the middle of nowhere, USA. Mulder grumbles about the up-to date technology in their rental car while Scully settles in for a long drive.

“Remember when we brought tapes, Scully?” He grins at her. There are no longer tape decks in cars. Or CD decks. There are USB hubs and streaming. One thing, though, has never changed: Mulder’s smile. 

“I remember,” she says softly.

“I made us a playlist, but the sound system won’t connect.”

“A playlist?”

He nods. “All your favorites.”

“You remember them.” It’s not a question, not after 25 years together.

There’s a beep and Mulder sighs in relief. “I did it. So what will it be, Scully? Are you in the mood for Dancing Queen? How about some Thriller?”

She looks at him, love spilling over from all the months they were separated. She doesn’t care about music. She’s got him and he’s all she wants. Just as she’s about to tell him so, she has an idea.

“Play Your Song, Mulder.”

And he does.


End file.
